The sergeant paused again, and his severe eyes grew thoughtful as he considered her wording. “Well, sure. We call it Sled Beach, because it used to be where everyone took out their toboggans, but I guess it is more of a spit now.”
“A sledding hill? It’s underwater,” Mallory replied.
“Didn’t used to be. Not before the dam burst.”
“But surely you aren’t old enough to remember that?”
His mouth quirked, but Mallory couldn’t tell if it was a suppressed smile or a twitch of annoyance.
“No. That was about a year before I came along. It’s the way everyone refers to it. I suppose people around here have a long memory.”
Another question burst out of her before she realized she was going to ask it.
“Do you tell all the residents of McNamara when someone passes away?”
He paused again. Mallory thought she saw confusion crease his expression before it hardened again into a solemn gaze.
“No, of course not. But it’s my legal duty to notify the landowner,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Ma’am, the death occurred on your property. It’s triggered a formal investigation. We need to rule out your negligence.”
CHAPTER TWO
The space under her arms became unpleasantly clammy.
“Negligence?”
“Yes. Ma’am, maybe it’s best for me to come in. We can discuss this inside.”
It didn’t sound like a suggestion. She stepped back to allow the sergeant to move past her into the house. She realized that it was odd for her to let him take the lead only as he turned sideways to squeeze past her unpacked boxes. Despite the leaning tower, he moved confidently. All her professional life, she had been trained to acquiesce to doctors. More recently, she had acted the same way when the paramedics answered her call after she had found Graham, breathless and tinged with blue, in the hospital bed they’d had installed in the main room. But it seemed wrong to begin her new life with the same behavior. She wanted to be different in McNamara than she had been in Vancouver.
She drew herself up to her full height of five foot five as she followed the sergeant. Once in the kitchen, she noticed that the cupboards were more orange than they had appeared in photos. She tried not to let the discrepancy between the images and reality underline the way the sergeant’s arrival had changed her first nearly sacred moment in the house to something closer to profane. She fought the hopelessness that threatened to overcome her, but it was too late. The news of another death so close to her dulled the energy her earlier joy had given her. She struggled to remember the name of the sergeant but found it had been lost somewhere in her distracted thoughts. Once again, her mind was miles away from her.
The sergeant leaned against the side of the U-shaped counter farthest away from the living room as he spoke. Unlike her, he looked at ease. Now that he was out of the sunlight, his eyes had darkened to a shade close to cinnamon. She tried to mimic his relaxed posture on the counter across from him, but the handle of the drawer dug into her spine.
“I’m going to need to take down some details,” the sergeant said, a spiral-bound notepad already in hand. She nodded despite the fact that his eyes were trained on the paper. “So you are Mrs. Mallory Dent. Recently widowed.”
She was surprised that he already knew her name, but she reminded herself that news traveled fast in a town as small as McNamara.
“Yes, that is correct.”
Her voice came out tighter than she had hoped. She swallowed hard to loosen the coiling muscles in her neck, recalling an urban legend that had circulated among her friends when she was a teenager about a woman who had broken her neck by turning it too quickly to the side. She willed herself to relax, sipping at the air like her yoga instructor used to recommend.
“Ma’am? Are you all right? You look pale. Must have been a long drive coming all the way from Vancouver.”
Again, Mallory was uneasy that he knew where she was from. When had the drowning been discovered? How had he had time to ask questions about her?
The sergeant shifted his weight forward. Despite herself, Mallory flinched. A flash of sympathy tugged down the creases at the corners of his eyes before he turned and pulled open the door of a large supply closet to his right. As she watched in surprise, he took out two folding chairs before returning to the center of the kitchen and unfolding one for her with a squeak. The closeness of his body unnerved her almost as much as his knowledge of the contents of the closet, but he didn’t seem to notice.
After he had placed the second chair opposite hers, he met her eyes again and indicated she should sit. He seemed to be making it clear that this was not a social call. Mallory settled on the seat, and the sergeant did the same. The space in the kitchen was limited, especially given the length of the man’s legs. Their knees were only inches away from touching, which made Mallory feel more uncomfortable. She had not been alone with a man other than her husband for the last year. Before that, her contact with other men had been limited to other staff at the hospital where she used to work. Graham had been the first man she’d seriously dated, so it wasn’t as though she had any history to draw on before him. Since Graham had died, she had kept her distance from other people both physically and emotionally. They’d had only a handful of close friends who had come for the funeral, then mercifully faded away from her, back into their own lives.
She took another deep breath but felt no less clouded by the disassociation that had been her default setting for months. She was present but far away. Aware but not absorbing. This is a routine notification, she thought. You must remember what the sergeant says. It might be important later.
“I apologize. It has been a long day, and this is very upsetting news. Yes, I am Mallory Dent. I bought this property . . .” She trailed off, unable to recall the date when she had signed the papers. Mallory’s slow mind could summon only vague memories of insurance forms and homeowner reports.
The sergeant flipped to the previous page in his book. “September first. Just over a month ago. The property was empty and ready for occupation immediately. You moved quickly.”
“You know a lot about me,” Mallory said.
“Betty Barber filled me in. McNamara is a close-knit community, Mrs. Dent.”
Mallory was oddly chastened at his words, as if it were she who was breaching protocol and not him.
“Of course.”
“We do have rules, however. I’ll need to see some identification from you.”
“Sure,” she said. “My purse is by the door.”
She rose from her chair, feeling grateful for a moment on her own, fleeting as it was. Once he had looked over her license and taken down her cell phone number, he regarded her with curiosity.
“A big move for you.”
Mallory agreed, though she wasn’t sure it had been a question.
“I’ve lived here most of my life. I’m trying to wrap my head around a person who buys a property in a town they’ve never visited without ever seeing it.”
Mallory’s cheeks burned. “I saw photos.”
“Did Betty give you a property map at least? Do you know how big your piece is?”
She hesitated before she said yes.
From the skeptical look on the sergeant’s face, she sensed her answer had been unconvincing. She had looked over the document as carefully as she would have reviewed any medical chart, but now that he was staring at her, she couldn’t recall much more than the fact that it was a rectangle. The specific demarcations and landmarks had flown from her mind in a way that she had never experienced before. Had the weight of grief crushed her ability to think straight?